


A View To A Kill

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Spy vs Spy [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Assassin Stiles Stilinski, Assassins & Hitmen, Break Up, Domestic Fluff, Established Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Sciles, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy Scott McCall, dumb boys, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:58:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6268693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Hale has ordered Scott to return to work as the vicious Wolf, master spy. Scott tries to hold onto one last morning together before he leaves his life with Stiles behind for good. </p><p>Or, that Sciles Spy AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A View To A Kill

Morning came too soon and the sunlight intruded rudely through their window. Scott hadn’t slept at all, counting out the beats of Stiles’s heart as he gently snored beside him. If this was going to be the end of everything, he was going to remember every detail of the way Stiles’s body felt pressed against his, the way he worried his lips until they were ragged, and the soft sound of his breathing. Even this felt like disobedience, keeping a hidden piece of his Scott persona where even Peter couldn’t touch it. He only hoped that the Wolf wouldn’t end up swallowing it all.

Scott slipped from the bed leaving Stiles sprawled across the mattress and quietly padded out of the bedroom into the living room. He should walk out the door, just keep going without stopping. The goodbye was impossible. If he just disappeared, then maybe it would be easier. There was no Scott anyways, vanishing into nothing would be a fitting end for him.

He reached for the door handle and flexed his hand, wincing at the stiff cuts across his knuckles. He was an idiot to have let this go so far. How often had he used seduction to destroy one of his targets? Love created vulnerabilities to exploit, he wasn’t supposed to get caught in the same trap. The floor creaked behind him and Scott froze, silently cursing his hesitation.

“Scott?” Stiles yawned, rubbed sleep from his eyes as he slumped against the bedroom door frame. “You goin’ somewhere?”

“I was just…” The Wolf was a brilliant tactician, a liar and scam artist by trade. His silver tongue was as much of a weapon as his claws, but right now, Scott had nothing to say. Stiles was sleep rumpled, and his face was covered in pillow creases. Scott had woken up to him like that more times than he could count, but right now, it didn’t feel like enough.

“You don’t have to yet. Come on.” Stiles waved around another yawn.

When the other man wrapped an arm around his waist and shoved him into the kitchen, Scott went willingly. Stiles wouldn’t let go of him until he could plant Scott’s butt on one of their three kitchen stools. They came in different heights and different designs, but Stiles couldn’t complain because he got them and his table while dumpster diving. They were covered in Pokemon stickers courtesy of their last owner, and Scott was struck by how badly he’d miss them too.

“I’m gonna make pancakes.” Stiles proclaimed proudly, banging his way through the kitchen cupboards. He piled ingredients into his arms, some of them Scott was pretty sure weren’t supposed to go into pancakes. “I saw them on TV once. It’ll be a breeze.”

“Don’t you have work soon?” Scott asked, picking up the half-empty bottle of ketchup Stiles had plucked from the depths of their refrigerator to keep Stiles from getting too creative. “Now’s not the time to go all Masterchef on me.”

“Are you kidding? Now is the perfect time!” Stiles said, breaking two eggs into a bowl before cursing every chicken he knew as he picked out shell bits.

“I could just do this, I’m always the one who makes them.” Scott offered, but Stiles swatted his hands away from the ingredients.

“Not a chance! That’s exactly why I’m doing it, you should just sit there and comment on how handsome I am and how amazing my cooking skills are. And also about how I’m an absolute god in the bedroom. That wouldn’t hurt either, you know, with my megadong and everything.”

Scott choked, laugh bubbling up before he could stop himself. This just made it worse, how was he supposed to leave like this? Stiles had no right to make him laugh or entice him with awful crunchy pancakes or offer him an impossible life he couldn’t have. He dropped his head, keeping his hands safely between Bulbasaur and Ponyta where he wouldn’t be tempted to help Stiles make something that was at least edible. “Yes, of course. How could I forget your megadong?”

Stiles gasped in shock, so offended that he let the broken egg mess ooze across the counter. “How dare you! Dickzilla is not amused.”

“Well, keep it in your pants before you destroy Tokyo or something.” He watched his boyfriend scowl and take too many squares of paper towel to sop up the mess. This was what he was going to miss most of all. There was a genuine connection, a real friendship that was the foundation of everything else they’d built. They had both been so stupid and uncharacteristically gentle with each other. He had actually _liked_ Stiles before he’d realized he loved him, falling for his best friend by accident. Maybe it had started as a lie, but somewhere along the way, Scott realized that they just fit. He couldn’t even pinpoint the moment it went from a mark to a friend to the something more. It had all been so routine until Stiles had floundered and flailed his way into his life and nothing made sense anymore.

No, that was a lie. Stiles fit with  _Scott._  The Wolf was something else entirely. Stiles could never know about the monster that lurked just beneath his smiling mask. He would rather walk out the door right now and never come back than expose the truth. “Why are you doing this?” He asked quietly as Stiles blinked rapidly in confusion. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Uh… Because I want to?” 

The answer was so simple and so honest, Scott was embarrassed to have asked. His jaw clamped shut, but Stiles didn’t seemed to have noticed, fussing with his skillet as he poured too much flour into an already chunky mixture. Love didn’t come with a price tag. Scott was going to miss that so much too. “Stiles, no, that’s too much salt!”

They sniped back and forth, falling into an old rhythm, and Stiles only threatened to drown Scott in his batter once. It was a vast improvement from the “Great Lasagna Incident” they both swore they’d never speak of again. Scott talked him out of dumping a cup of sugar into his mixture and laughed unhelpfully when Stiles lost a battle to their spatula. All his pancakes smeared across the pan in chunky columns. Then it became clear all too quickly that Stiles was doing that on purpose.

There were maybe two pancakes that weren’t horribly burned or terribly underdone, but all of them also looked remarkably like dicks. Scott would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. Stiles scoffed to himself as he admired his handiwork, and dropped a jar of jam on the table alongside their ketchup. “I figure you can just drown out the taste if they suck.”

“Spoken like a true cook.” Scott drawled, but he made a stab for the most presentable flapjacks without a hint of guilt. It was the best breakfast he’d ever had.

Then Stiles reached for his hand. Scott froze as Stiles examined his bandaged knuckles, gently running his thumb across the bandage. “This probably needs cleaning, dude. Lemme handle it. I bet you forgot I was a scout when you went around punching motorcycles.”

Stiles didn’t look anything but honest, but Scott wondered if he’d seen through the lies. The bruises didn’t look anything like road rash and his boyfriend was annoyingly good at fitting the pieces together to pry an answer out of someone. Scott played along, pretending he was just as honest. If Stiles wasn’t going to call him out on the lie, then he wasn’t going to admit to anything either.

“Next time a motorcycle gives you the stink eye, don’t come crying to me.” Scott huffed as gentle hands slowly unwrapped the bandages and Stiles hissed in sympathy pain. The wounds weren’t bad, shallow crisscrossed slices across his bruised knuckles. At least the broken glass had made clean cuts, it would all heal soon enough and it didn’t hurt too badly unless he tried to flex his hand. It had stopped bleeding hours ago, the rest was just superficial.

Scott let Stiles carefully run his hand under warm water, washing out the wounds and patting them dry with a clean dish towel. Long, deft fingers skillfully rewrapped them with bright white gauze from their first aid kit (the best investment either of them had ever made). Scott was impressed whatever first aid skills Stiles had picked up all those years ago stuck with him. He was usually so squeamish when it came to anything with blood or pain, he couldn’t even watch a horror movie without feeling woozy.

“Seriously, you were in the boy scouts?”

“What, don’t believe me?” Stiles snorted, shoving the alcohol and gauze pads back into the first aid kit. “You should have seen me in those drab little shorts they had. It was pretty much the biggest ‘please beat me up’ sign you could slap on a kid, but it made my Dad happy. He went all the way to Eagle Scout, never shut up about it.”

Scott raised on skeptical eyebrow. “Did you get your Eagle Scout whatever too?”

“Oh hell no!” His friend snorted derisively, waving his hands like he could swat that image out of thin air. “I didn’t even make it through cub scouts. I was a little, what’s the word? _Rambunctious?_ There was this one jerk, Isaac Lahey or something. He was some kid from my neighborhood and our parents made us join at the same time. He was such a friggin suck up. This one time, I tricked him into supergluing his hand to his face. After that, they asked me to leave.”

“Seriously?” Scott snorted, trying to cover up his laughter with a disapproving frown. “That poor kid!”

“Whatever, he totally deserved it.” Stiles was unrepentant as he put the first aid kit away with a flourish. “And I learned how to bandage up cuts and scrapes, which came in handy when his older brother wailed on me a few days later.”

Scott lost it completely, putting his head down on the table as he laughed. Stiles preened, always gratified when he could make his best friend laugh. He reached for Scott’s hand again, tracing his fingers over the fresh white gauze thoughtfully.

Scott sobered quickly, catching himself before he could twitch his hand away. Such a stupid injury, it seemed like most of his choices these days were just that self-destructive. “Hey, Stiles…” Scott tested the waters without looking up, not sure he could offer so much of the ugly truth if he had to see the judgement in his boyfriend’s amber eyes. “You’re still pretty close with your Dad, right? Like, things are okay with him and stuff. Does he ever try to get into your life?” He sighed, fingers curling into his palms and already regretting that he said anything at all. Peter wasn’t his father and what they had wasn’t just some petty family squabble.

Scott didn’t catch the anger that flashed across the other man’s face, but there was no way he could miss the way Stiles’s chair scratched across the floor when he dragged it closer. Then Stiles wrapped his arms around Scott’s shoulders, carelessly draping himself across his boyfriend, until they touched in too many places.

“Not so much since I moved here,” Stiles shrugged, his tone deceptively light. “We’re okay.”

Scott nodded again. He’d done a customary background check on Mr. Stilinski when he first met Stiles, and knew he was still working as a sheriff back at Stiles’s hometown. At the time, Scott didn’t think it necessary to get Haletech involved in a more thorough search, and now, it seemed like he’d made the right choice. There wasn’t anything scandalous about some small town sheriff miles away. The less involved Haletech was with his cover, the better. They’d Skyped a grand total of two times, and Scott remembered how nervous he’d been the first time. It was after he and Stiles had made it past their second month anniversary, the first time Stiles introduced him as his boyfriend. He could still feel the way the proud flush had burned in his cheeks.

“We used to argue a lot though, y’know, about my career. Not sure you’ve noticed, but I can be a bit of a dick,” Stiles said. Scott laughed easily and Stiles would do anything to keep it that way. Something about this story seemed to fit too well with his concerns, but it was hard to be suspicious when Stiles held him so carefully. “We wanted the same things, we just had very different ideas of what was good for me. Moving out here changed things a lot. The distance was good or us, and we get along better now.”

This wasn’t anything like a loving father who wanted his wayward son to take over at the local sheriff’s department. There was no fond memories with boy scouts or with other kids. Scott’s childhood had been a brutal one as Peter shaped him in his own image.  Distance wasn’t going to help Scott. There was no where on earth that Peter Hale couldn’t reach, he had eyes everywhere and sat in the middle of a web with a thousand threads. He hoarded information and secrets, building an empire with the power he amassed. This was crazy, how could he even think about running? Scott was loyal, he was obedient. He knew his place!

Scott forced a smile, gathering up the plates and starting to clean up the flour spilled across the counter top. “I had no idea that you were dick, really. That’s some news to me, I’m not sure how I could have ever missed it. Wow. Wow.”

“You’re such an asshole.” Stiles laughed, smearing flour across Scott’s front and pulling him in for a kiss. As long as Scott was smiling, then things were better. The tiny worried crease between his eyebrows eased, his shoulders straightened. It was a small enough thing when there were still bruises hidden in Scott’s skin and his hand was bandaged, but for a moment he looked happier. Savoring this one last perfect moment.

“Hey!” Scott protested, shoving Stiles away and brushing himself off. “Either help me or go get dressed. I’m not going to have you late to work again, your boss is going to fire you.”

“Come over again tonight?” Stiles caught the other man in his arms and pinned him to the counter. “Please? I’ll actually cook something for you, better than even pancakes.”

“I-I… I’ll be working late in the library tonight. You know I’ve been neglecting my paper and I have to get it done.” The smile was gone in an instant, Scott already retreating.  _Say it. Say you’re leaving. Make it quick and tell him you’re not coming back_. He berated himself, too much of a coward to make a clean break. “I don’t think I can come over.”

There was that split second of hesitation, the fear that tensed through Scott’s body and Stiles could read it all. Something was wrong and it went beyond lying about bruised knuckles. Stiles dropped his voice, sliding his hand down his boyfriend’s side. “Scott, what is it?”

“It’s nothing. I just can’t see you, okay?” Anger was easier to fake than admitting to heartbreak and Scott let himself snap at the other man. Stiles blinked in surprise, the illusion of their peaceful morning starting to crack.

“Scott?”

The young man’s shoulders seemed to sag and he leaned into Stiles’s space like he could barely keep himself upright. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course I do.” Dread crawled up the back of Stiles's throat. Something was wrong, that one whispered sentence sounded too final. “Dude, is everything okay? Is this about your Dad? Did he…Scott, did he do something?”

Scott didn’t answer, just buried his face into the curve of Stiles’s neck and breathed deeply. “Things are getting a little difficult at home. I think I can’t come over tonight.”

“Then I’ll come see you. Don’t say no, please?”

Scott should. It was better for the both of them. It was never going to be easy. Stiles looked at him like he was ready to fight for him, and when he leaned in for a kiss, Scott kissed him back. One last kiss, one final memory, with flour on Stiles’s nose and a splotchy blush on his cheeks.

_I’m going to miss you._

Scott didn’t say no, but he didn’t say yes, either.

 

“So let me get this straight, you want to commit forgery, kidnapping, and take out a hit on a  _civilian_ because your cover is being threatened, all this instead of just getting a new cover. Did I miss anything?” Allison asked dryly. She didn’t even look away from her computer screen. Stiles was mildly insulted. 

“When you put it that way, it sounds like a terrible idea,” Stiles scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Stiles, no one is attacking your boyfriend to get to you.”

“But someone  _is_ attacking him!” Stiles snapped. “And the world will be okay with one less douchey rich dick.”

Allison snorted over her shoulder. “Stiles, I can’t tell you Scott’s going to be okay, but if you want to fix things for a civilian, you’re going to have to use civilian rules. You don’t even know it was his Dad who did anything. Maybe he had an argument with his father but really did get hurt in some motorcycle accident?”

“So? It’s not like we get walked through the whys of killing a dude when we’re out on the field. Scott’s better off without him.” Stiles grumbled, but his expression darkened, and what little jest he’d held had twisted into something more sinister. “You didn’t see him, Allison. He was… He looked scared, and that counts for something.”

Allison finally sighed and turned to look at the other assassin. Stiles was so upset that he’d flushed a blotchy red, tongue darting between his lips as he almost shook with anger. It was an odd sight. There were times Stiles’s rage was out of control and people got hurt, but he usually managed to keep himself focused enough when they were on a mission. He looked seconds away from exploding and Allison knew he’d lash out indiscriminately unless he calmed down. 

“So I guess he does mean something special to you.” She said, pressing her lips in a line hard enough to show the dimples in her cheeks and hoping it was enough of a distraction. They curved into a knowing smile when she saw how Stiles scowled at the accusation.

“I just don’t want him getting hurt.”

“And you like him. Come on, Stiles. Even a civilian could read the signs you’re giving off, it’s like you have a giant blinking neon one above your head saying that you’re smitten. The only one you’re trying to fool is yourself.”

Stiles opened his mouth and snapped it shut without a word, outraged and angry. “Okay, so what? I like him, he’s… damn it Allison, he’s got this way of seeing the best in everything, even when shit hits the fan. He can put so much faith in things, it scares me.” He sat down heavily at the revelation, rocked off his feet by the strength of it. Stiles was so used to lying with every word he spoke that he hadn’t even realized he’d been lying to himself too. “I’m  _scared_. I’m actually scared that he could get hurt.”

Allison nudged her partner with her foot, knocking against his ankle. “I won’t tell anyone, you have my word.”

Oh god, if Argent found out about this, it would be just the excuse his boss needed to yank him out of the field or declare him unfit. He was only as good as his results, but falling in love with civilians could jeopardize his entire operation, and Scott would be a target for anyone who ever tried to come for the Hunters. Not to mention it was all supposed to be temporary. When the missions called him to the other side of the world, he’d have to go without time enough to say goodbye.

“What am I going to do, Allison?”

Her computer pinged before she could answer, opening a slew of files across her monitor. Both agents turned instantly, crowding each other to get a better view, and what Stiles saw blew his mind. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “How’d you get this stuff?”

“Traffic cameras. The quality’s awful, but we’ve got enough to identify when Daehler left his home and the traffic around Kanima’s. There’s only one person who really matters.” Allison grinned because she knew she was that good. She brought up one of the windows, a grainy picture of a blonde in an expensive coat and five inch heels, flanked by men who would happily take a bullet for her. “It took longer than I’d hoped for, but meet Erica Reyes, an intermediary in the world of international commerce. Mostly she deals in diamonds and arms, the sort of things that don’t go through customs. They had to have been involved with something big to get Erica’s attention. Give me a few more minutes to figure out where she’s set up.”

Stiles scowled, dragging a file to his corner of the screen to better review it. Something wasn’t clicking, and once it did, his expression darkened, everything else seemed secondary. “Allison, there’s no way the Hunters didn’t already know something this big was in town. What the Hell are we dealing with?”

The other assassin quieted, the thrill of a job well done not enough to hide the bitter taste in her mouth after a quick search of their internal files turned up nothing. Only one level of management could hide information from her _._   

She lowered her voice, keeping the easy smile on her face as she typed a few commands into the keyboard. “It looks like this Erica Reyes person is going to be putting in an appearance tonight at the Hope Gala. It’s some big ball where people can wear a five thousand dollar dress and write it off as a charity expense.” Allison pulled up the website, a classy deal with gilt calligraphy and a $10,000 a plate minimum donation for all attendees.

“You think there’s going to be some kind of deal going down?”

Allison nodded, tucking a loose curl of brown hair behind her ear. “The guest list is pretty exclusive, it’s the richest people in the city and I’m seeing a lot of international guests too. What do you want to bet that at least some of them are going to be there to broker a few deals. I don’t know if they’ll be auctioning the drive off or they already have a buyer lined up, but you need to be there.”

Stiles dragged his finger over the screen. “Get me a ticket and something to wear, I’ll do it.”

“And you’re in luck. It’s a masquerade, so no one will have to look at your ugly face or risk your cover.” She teased as Killshot twisted his lips into a frown.

“Ghosty got jokes.” He snarked back, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you can get me a reservation, I’ll walk out with the drive and I won’t even shoot up the place, how about that?”

“My hero.” Allison said dryly, tapping quickly on the keyboard. In the middle of her string of code, a few words caught Stiles’s eye.

 _Not safe 2 talk. Listening. Will find out truth. Trust no one_.

In a few keystrokes they were gone and Stiles didn’t even nod to acknowledge the message. If Argent had any suspicions about them, then they needed to be on their toes until they unraveled what was going on. At least he had Allison in his corner, things always looked brighter (and a lot less dead) when the Ghost was on your side.

“Oh, and Stiles? Watch out for the big bad Wolf.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


End file.
